


Fuck Surprises

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal, F/F, Grumpy Eleanor, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series, Rimming, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relaxing is not Eleanor's strongest suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck Surprises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainRivaini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRivaini/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [CaptainRivaini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRivaini/pseuds/CaptainRivaini) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Max introduces Eleanor to the lovely pass time of anal sex. Can include anything and everything.
> 
>  **A/N:** I really wanted to write Eleanor in all of her we are not about me glory, and try a PWP and this happened :3

Fuck surprises. Fuck Nassau. If there was ever an ungrateful bitch of a town (ha!), this was it. And most of all, fuck those idiots on the beach. If they couldn’t even take their own goddamn prizes, then what good _were_ they? Or did they expect Eleanor to put to sea and capture ships for them too now?

(Father would have an apoplectic fit.)

She gasped as the pressure on the small of her back increased briefly before relenting. The dark oak headboard offered her no comments.

“Is Max boring you?” Max climbed off the bed before she could muster a reply.

Eleanor’s hair was pinned up and out of the way, so she put on a semblance of a human expression. “No. Keep doing… that.”

“Doing what?” Max asked innocently.

She knitted her brow. “Digging your fingers along my spine at random and covering me with oil?” The oil was easy, she couldn’t _not_ feel the grease on her skin. “And you were humming something in French.”

“It is called a _massage_ , Eleanor.” Max folded her arms across her chest. “It is supposed to relax you, not make your mind wander back to what makes you so tense.”

Well, maybe it was working, seeing as she was not murdering anyone right now. Not yet.

Max knelt on the edge of the bed. “What is troubling you? You can tell Max.”

Tell Max, tell the whole bloody brothel.

She narrowed her eyes at Max, at the swell of her breasts over the stays and at the lazy black thing that she was wearing over them. That braid tucked across her forehead. No, she wasn’t being fair. As far as she knew, Max had not been keeping tabs on her for Mr Noonan or anyone else here. And, more importantly, _she_ had not let anything of value slip.

“My leads were solid,” she grumbled, propping herself up on her elbows and glaring at the mould on the wall. “Good, fat cargoes of rum _and_ tobacco. It is not _my_ business if they sail in consort or not.” If the idiots had got off their arses faster, they might have captured the merchantmen one by one, instead of being caught between the two of them. “And the guns? Pirates _need_ guns. But no, they’re all so fucking incompetent.” Not a word from Flint for over a month. The Naval patrols could have got him.

What a cheery thought.

“ _All_ of them?” Max asked playfully. “Even Charles Vane?”

In a flash, Eleanor was on her feet. “You say that name in my bed again,” she growled, “and I forget I ever knew yours. Do you understand what I’m saying, Max?”

Max glanced down and pushed out her lips in that sulky manner of hers. “I am not in your bed.” She met Eleanor’s eyes. “Because you were not with me. I had a surprise for you, but now I don’t think you want it.”

“Fuck surprises.” Eleanor dropped back onto the pillow. Fuck Vane. _He_ would have got those cargoes. But in no fucking way he was getting any.

For a moment, she thought that Max had left the room. Then she heard a noise and tried to think of something nice to say. Something that would get them both back in the mood. And then...

Max was affixing a black leather harness to her hips, with a matching thing of leather sticking out as the centerpiece.

Catching Eleanor’s bemused look, she winked at her impishly. “Have you ever played with this?”

She rolled her eyes. “I live in _Nassau_ , Max.” She had seen more dildoes and other sex toys than she had ever cared to.

Max drew closer, undeterred. She looked ridiculous. “But what have you been doing with it?”

Well, she was not about to recite the full list, was she? She reached for the grog on the bedside table and grimaced: it was just tea, without anything in it.

Max caught her hand. “Do you trust Max?”

What kind of a question was that?

Max rubbed oily circles into her palm. “Do you trust Max with your pleasure?”

When Eleanor had walked into Mr Noonan’s establishment and demanded the best fucking whore that he had, she had been… well, drunk for one thing. Sick and tired of men and their bullshit for another.

But Max, she was something else altogether. She was not at all sure what scared her the most: how good Max was at her job or how bad.

“Yes,” Eleanor replied at length. “I do. relaxing is not exactly my strongest suit.”

“And that is where Max comes in,” she murmured sweetly. “Max will help you.”

“With that thing on?”

Max chuckled. “We are past massage, _ma chérie_. Lie down and let Max handle it.”

Being taken care of always came at a price that she would not be willing to pay. She had learnt that from an early age. Even so, she went along with it, closing her eyes.

Her calm lasted for all of one moment until Max licked at her tailbone gently, making her flinch.

“Now what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Making you feel _good_.”

Max’s tongue was warm and slippery as it travelled ever so downwards. Eleanor drew a shaky breath, trying not to squirm. As she strongly suspected, the only way to make Max stop was to let her tire herself out.

When Eleanor did not feel anything much during sex, she used to believe that there was something wrong with her. Well, that had not lasted. She had decided that there was something wrong with everyone else, so keeping a clear head was a clear advantage. She had learnt to play rough, and when she played rough, she was at her most certain.

Leads, Nassau, bruises on her neck, she pushed it all away, picturing her favourite painting: beautiful women, simply enjoying themselves without any scrutiny. The difference between her and Max was, she never got caught in the illusion.

She had no idea how it happened, but before she knew it, her face was buried in the pillow and she was ready to praise the Lord - or herself - for ever entering this fuckhole. Her fingers clenched around the sheets even as Max’s tongue did an equivalent of quoting some Roman treatise.

She all but growled when it was suddenly gone. A sheen of sweat was covering her skin, mingling with the oil.

Max was grinning like a cat that ate the canary. “Are you ready for more?”

“Can’t keep yourself from talking?” she taunted.

“You like me talking,” Max declared complacently, rubbing her thumb against the small of Eleanor’s back. “You like the sound of my voice. Nobody talks to you like me.”

And yet, everybody was obsessed with their damn uniqueness in her life.

The oil had a citrusy smell. Eleanor rather liked it, now that it had stopped getting on her nerves. She did not protest against Max’s finger, a little curious despite herself.

“You are still tense. You have never done this before, then?”

As if she would let anyone bend her over and fuck her in the arse. “No.”

 _You let Nassau do that to you_ , Max’s eyes said, but she was too clever to voice that. “It can be very pleasurable. Not only for men.” She had not needed _that_ mental image either.  “Let me show you.”

She sighed as Max added another finger. At the third, it began to sting. Max’s other hand stroked her hip as if she were a spooked animal.

She twisted around again. “Get on with it.”

Holding her gaze, Max threw off her lace and then her stays.

The gentle press of Max’s breasts against her back and the thick fullness of Max’s leathery toy robbed her of breath. Max’s hands seemed to be everywhere, rubbing and squeezing and pinching just so. She could not hold back a tiny moan.

“I want to be gentle with you,” Max whispered, rocking into her slowly, sensually. “But if you want me to be a little rougher, I can do that too.” She punctuated her words with one precise thrust.

Eleanor gasped. She wanted… God, she wanted this place to go to hell. Not permanently, only for tonight. Her nails dragged against the headboard, and her mind emptied of thought. Max brought her over the edge over and over again, and weren’t women’s bodies wonderful?

When they broke off, Max was panting like she had run up and down the stairs a dozen times, and Eleanor was seriously concerned about needing extra cushions for her chair.

Max nuzzled her neck. “Happy birthday, Eleanor.”

She froze. “What did you just say?”

Max’s eyes were hooded, her eyeliner slightly smudged. “Happy birthday.” She gave Eleanor a wide, childlike smile that twisted something in Eleanor’s gut.

“How did you know?” She never celebrated it. Hell, she would not have remembered about it if Max had not reminded her.

“Max is very resourceful.”

Max was also an idiot. Eleanor poked at her fake cock. “If it’s my birthday, this belongs to me now.”

Fuck surprises and fuck birthdays.


End file.
